


special creature

by dinEli



Category: Brazilian Folklore - Fandom, Teen Wolf (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkwardness Towards Sex, Brazilian Folklore, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Empath!Scott, Empowerment Topics, F/M, MTF Bonnie Bennett, Referenced dubious consent, Religion, Religious Conflict, Religious Discussion, Religious Guilt, Scott Delgado, Sexism, Sexual Repression, Sexual Tension, Shame, Trans Female Character, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5420756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinEli/pseuds/dinEli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott Delgado is an <i>empath</i>, Bonnie Bennett is a witch, there's a person trapped inside a Headless Mule wandering around their campus.</p><p>They need saving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the witch and the empath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All in all, his roommate is a witch, he is an empath, and apparently there is a horse running around outside his room while he is trying to study for his finals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see, this one's pretty personal, seeing that I'm trying to insert my country's folklore and a few topics that come with it. I won't talk about it now, but, you know, be warned: this will get deep.
> 
> I'm sorry for the language, though; meaning that I wanted to write in this profound and poetic way, but lately I haven't been feeling ok and it totally translates on the shit I write. So, yeah. Sorry 'bout that.
> 
> And enjoy your reading!

What distracted him were the sounds of hooves against hard floor.

Not to brag, but Scott likes to think of himself as a pretty single-minded guy about a few things- when studying, for example, nearly nothing else matters. He tries to shut out the world, so as to make every second count.

Mainly because, in his case, every second counts.

(As it is, it isn't an easy feat to conclude vet school while working two part jobs. Also maintaining a social life, but lately that has been more a figure of speech than an actual thing.)

During the final weeks of the semester, especially, he just can't let himself get sidetracked.

Still, a clear and rhythmic hoofing noise makes him look up from his three-hour sitting position.

And then frown.

\--

It had taken him three days to realize his roommate is a witch.

And a powerful one, at that.

There is the way she walks, as if she were royalty, as if her thighs to her calves to her feet were all full of energy. Her spine straight as if she owned the world. Her face tall as if she had to prove it.

It could also have something to do with the fact that she _has_ to stand up, to use this posture as a shield.

You see, Scott's mom taught him well, he thinks. It makes him proud, and relieved, that she's taught him well.

But he also knows that sometimes the world takes longer to adapt to the different. It's not okay, it's not right- it's the worst kind of violence. Still, it's the truth.

While growing up sometimes this truth would hit him straight on the face, and others it would hit people close to him, or even strangers.

(It still hurt all the same, and he could never blame it entirely on his _empath_ powers.)

With Bonnie, though, it majorly sucks. Not only because she's his roommate, because he sees her pretty much every day, and her feelings sometimes are so written in her eyes even without his powers he would feel it.

It's because- well. She's a girl, and his dorm isn't for girls.

But then, she is a witch, and it is also written all over her stance that she can, and she _does_ take care of herself.

So, yes. The way she walks could have all sorts of meanings, but he chose these two. She is both a very courageous transsexual girl sleeping in a boys' dorm and an incredibly powerful witch who knows how to use said powers.

Obviously, he couldn't use his own _empath_ -y to read her mind or some shit, so he had found out all of this information the human way. Firstly, he had to ask _what_ was a girl doing being his roommate, which led to a scoff and a playful raise of eyebrows.

(Needless to say he felt very rude and very embarrassed, althought she didn't seem to mind.)

Then- there was the fact that she has fourteen books on witchcraft hidden inside a  trunk.

She probably still doesn't know he knows- which truly makes him feel uncomfortable, but that's a conversation he doesn't want to have. Truth be told, he was curious and nosy- clearly that wasn't his proudest moment.

All in all, his roommate is a witch, he is an _empath_ , and apparently there is a horse running around outside his room while he is trying to study for his finals.

\--

Errata: there _isn't_ a horse running around outside his room while he's trying to study for his finals.

Maybe it will be best to reinforce that Scott's a vet student.

Since very little, he's wanted to take care of animals. It wasn't a simple path- from the hardship of single parenting, to the hollowness of abandon, and the loneliness of growing up as an asthmatic kid in a high school era that promoted sports and Olympic beauty.

He went through it all. True is, he doesn't like to talk about it, or even think about it. Life's done good to him- he's made it this far, against all odds; and honestly, that's all that matters. But for the privilege of disclosure: it wasn't exactly easy.

Being a vet student, though, he could absolutely affirm that whatever he's seeing is _not_ , in fact, a horse.

(Actually, he doesn't even _need_ to have veterinary knowledge for that. Seriously.)

The creature has the body of a horse- at first. Only when he notices the small hooves, the thin limbs, does he think _maybe donkey_. Its fur is brown and dirty, as if it's wild. It stands in the middle of the hallway, and its head is on fire.

Meaning that it doesn't have a head. There is a small fire coming out of an opening in its neck. And that's it.

Surprisingly enough, he's more curious about whether he should call it a mule or a donkey than about the headless thing. But, you know, as he said before, he's an _empath_ who shares a bedroom with a witch- weirdest shit has happened.

He's about to shrug it off and run to his room to research the differences between the species when he feels it.

This animal is _not_ an animal. It's not a horse and it's not a mule or a donkey and it's not a headless quadruped wandering around.

It's scared, it's terrified, in a way that animals are- yes. But also, and mostly, it's human.

There's fear and confusion and outright despair that he can't categorize as not human. This is not irrational being, and suddenly his heart breaks.

In front of him, Scott Delgado, 24 year-old vet student, on this Friday night, in a empty dorm (it _is_ a Friday night), there is a human trapped inside an animal, as scared and hurting as any human can be; in a range that _only_ humans can feel. And this knowledge hits him square on the chest, it almost leaves him breathless.

It's true that mules (maybe it's a mare mule, after all) are extremely cognitive, but he's also certain that, had it had eyes, they would be full of tears.

However, the second it takes him to gasp, to exhale these feelings that are not his own but hurt as though they were, the mule takes off, fast and violent.

\--

At first, he's left looking at the spot where the creature has just been, his mind running a million and one thoughts.

What Scott's learned how to do during his adolescence was to find solutions. He's an over-achiever, people believer, mom admirer, _empath_ , vet student _and_ trouble solver.

If there's a problem, he's bound to try and find the best solution to it, the one that harms no one, that involves tons of talking in polite tones and discussing of interests. His solutions are usually calm and cold headed ones, as stated by his Group Debates' teacher in high school.

(Were he to consider his Psych 101 class he'd probably acknowledge that having a father with anger issues who used to speak in _very im_ polite tones and act on impulsive decisions- like, say, abandon him and his mom and never show up again- had probably had a big influence in this trait of his. But Scott usually tries super hard to ignore whichever influences his long lost and forgotten father had in his raising.)

That's why he's awoken and sitting straight with a half-formed plan on his roommate's bed when she stumbles back from a party at 6AM the next day.

"Why are you on my bed?", she says as lieu of greeting, slurring just slightly. She's wearing the highest heels he's ever seen and for a moment he's impressed both by her abilities at walking drunk on these and by her strong thighs.

Then he remembers the reason he _is_ waiting for her on her bed.

"Okay- so", he starts awkwardly. He always feels awkward around her, he can't explain why. "Um-"

Better to pull the band-aid.

"I know you're a witch- so that's that", he swallows and holds it into himself- _what_ he doesn't know, but it's a way he's found to block other people's feelings when they could be inconvenient. "Honestly it's no biggie- but last night I saw a human trapped inside a headless mule and I kinda need your help to fix it and save this unknown person from whatever curse was cast upon them."

The silence lasts about five seconds. It's surprisingly not awkward, considering that by now Scott's already retaken his role as problem solver and he can see that Bonnie's also already running possibilities.

"Did you say headless mule?", she's speaking in a somber tone, taking off her heels and walking towards her trunk. Scott's feeling a little nauseous- it's probably due to the guilt he feels whenever said trunk appears in his line of sight.

"Uh- yes! It was definitely a mule, I checked", at that, she raises her brow and he points to the books splayed over his own bed. It was a long night. "Except it didn't have a head- it had-"

"Flames?", she's already pulling an old book from the bottom of the trunk, mulling to herself. Her skirt is black and glittered, as well as really short, and he's left blushing in shame for as long as she's bowed to get it.

"U-hu! Like- there's a neck and then this red and orange fire. But I know it's not only an animal, it's-"

"It's a person. I know", she's got the book on the bed, opened in a page all written in a Latin-like language he doesn't understand. There's also an image, a drawing of a creature similar to the one he saw, the tall flames coming out of a black hole on its neck.

They both exchange a look.

"Do you- uh- understand what it says?", Scott asks, cautious. He's good at working with people, at creating partnerships; it's part of being an _empath_ , at reading people so well, but it's also part of knowing what to say, how to handle them.

Except, with Bonnie, he's left blind. He doesn't know whether it's because she's drunk or- or if she's blocking him, somehow.

(Or maybe he's still swallowing it all down, refusing to use his powers on her, even now.)

She smirks knowingly at the carefulness in his voice, and they both lean towards the book once she points at the title.

"It's in Portuguese. I'm not fluent, but it's similar enough to general Latin that I can understand a few words. It's also similar to Spanish-"

"Oh, so it's literally Headless Mule! _Mula Sien-Cabeza_?!", he reads slowly, trying to connect and make sense of the syllables. "Like- this weird _c_ must sound like an _s_ and-"

"You're getting way too excited about this language thing, aren't you?", she's smirking again, this time fondly, and the heat in Scott's cheeks is equivalent to the one burning in his chest.

He's getting sidetracked.

"Uh- sorry", he scratches his neck and gives her an embarrassed smile, his trademark for awkwardness, and she shrugs in that cool nonchalant way of hers. "So is that a Portuguese myth?"

"Brazilian, actually", she answers between _tsks_ , her brows furrowed in concentration. "And I think we're gonna need a dictionary for this."

It _is_ a Saturday morning, in which both of them have not slept at all, and it is also a two-paragraph complex language text, written probably by a native.

However, apparently Bonnie shares Scott's obsession on problem solving, because they only share one long-suffering look before, college students or not, opening Google Translator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah- that's it. I literally physically mentally whatever-ly can't write anything else for the life of me, so.
> 
> I know at first everything is all over the place, but I promise it'll get deeper. I just wanted to present the story.
> 
> Just let me know if it's cool or not and if you're Brazilian even better!!1!!!1!! Let's discuss folklore, dude!!
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading 'till this bit and be happy :D
> 
> (Raise your hand if you too love Google Translator to death and back!)
> 
> And if you want, I'm on [tumblr](https://a-good-finder.tumblr.com), and it'd be nice to talk about whatever :)


	2. the translation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment they both shared a look and understood just what they've gotten themselves into, all the strange and simple camaraderie they've been building the past hour gave space to this uneasiness; this sense of discomfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to write this one, 'cause I wanted to go over too many aspects and I had to focus and shit.
> 
> But here it is, hope you enjoy it :)

It's harder than it had appeared- to translate and understand it all; but when they do, it's even worse.

"So what... This- uh- this' a religious myth?", Scott asks her then, looking incredulously from Bonnie to the book to their opened Google Translator text.

Bonnie's quiet. And maybe he understands.

"It's a fucked up one, for sure."

From what they could have gathered, well- he couldn't agree more.

They're practically huddled on Bonnie's bed, the book opened between their thighs, while Scott holds her tablet with the translated text.

(Even with the book separating them, they're closer than they've ever been. Her eyes are the greenest, and she has such a tiny nose.

It should innerve him to notice these things- to be in a position in which these details turn into thoughts, but-

But, to be honest, it's stopped being awkward the moment he realized what it was all about.)

The moment they both shared a look and understood just what they've gotten themselves into, all the strange and simple camaraderie they've been building the past hour gave space to this uneasiness; this sense of discomfort.

 _He hates this. Knowing this, realizing this. Sometimes he'd rather close his eyes to it all_ \- and he doesn't realize he's saying this out loud until Bonnie sighs and agrees.

"But you were right, Scott-", she touches the image from her book with her long index finger, like it's a clue, "we have to do something about this."

It's in her eyes again, that strength, that energy. Strangely, it leaves him powerless.

At the same time, he can feel her resolve all the way to his toes.

Besides feeling it, he shares it.

\--

The most important question is: how the hell do these myths translate into real life?

"Because-", Scott continues, walking from the door to the opposite window, back and forth, like he's seen detectives do in one of his mom's favorite shows, "I mean, yeah, we both live in a world in which the supernatural is very not super and very much natural, but-"

"Still", Bonnie jumps in, "it has adaptations, you saying?", unlike him, she sits very calmly by the edge of her own bed, although her twitchy fingers betray her.

The walking around feels pointless, and Bonnie's eyes on him makes him feel heavy, so he sits on his own bed and looks at her, all seriousness, both too immerse in their own problem solving addiction.

"It does have adaptations, I think- what...", he swallows, pointing at the book, "what it says is-"

"Ridiculous?", she snaps back, with the eyebrow raising, also looking at the book as if its existence affronted hers.

Considering the contents of this specific page, it does.

"Well, yeah. I mean-", his shoulders sag, and only then does Scott let his eyes bleed out what he's been feeling from the moment he felt the Headless Mule's pain. "It's a person, maybe a woman, trapped inside a mule with flames in its head because it-", he swallows hard, wets his lips, " _she_ looked at a religious man in a sexual way?"

He ends it in a shoulder gesture, as if shrugging in disbelief, "I mean- what the hell?"

As an answer, Bonnie clicks her tongue, her hands around the edge of the mattress, her own shoulders slumped, expression pensive, "It does sound like one of those tales to get girls to hold it in, doesn't it?"

"To put it mildly", he lets out a deep breath. "Yes, it does sound like it."

"Does that bother you?"

When he looks at her, she's a cat, barely sit, bare feet nearly perching her up off the bed. To her eyes, he's the prey.

(Being an _empath_ , he knows she's trying to understand him. And part of him wants to lay himself bare, show her everything.

They're problem-solvers, except for this one problem Scott doesn't want to acknowledge.)

Even so, his answer is immediate.

"What- It doesn't bother you?"

Her eyes are a predator's, but her smile is a wry, bittersweet thing when she answers, "You have no idea."

\--

It's nearly impossible to try to understand a myth that in itself is so unrealistic.

Their text specifically cites the catholic religion culture as its roots, also the idea that these religious men that were referred are meant to be considered _special creatures_ \- so there lied the sin.

"To consider something sacred in a sexual way... ?", Scott tries, biting his pen distractedly.

He's been scribbling in his notebook for the past twenty minutes, trying to come up with a general enough version that could be adapted to their own reality.

"Or in any other immoral way... ?", comes the answer from behind him, Bonnie now sit by the end of his own bed, looking over his shoulder at his diagrams with circled names and arrows pointing at things.

(From his _empath_ -y, he thinks she finds his connections endearing.

It's one of those things.)

He swallows _this_ down his throat, focusing on one written word, circles it again for emphasis, adds, "It says _amorous relationship with a priest_ , specifically."

Her breath tickles his nape when she huffs.

It tickles everywhere under his skin.

He feels ashamed before refocusing.

"Yeah but that's an old ass book- we don't even have a church in _campus_. Where the hell would this girl find a priest to lust over?"

She's upset, a bundle of negative energy- her movements edgy and sharp. He wonders if she could conjure a storm at this moment to reflect how they're both feeling. With lots of thunders.

It's painful.

He doesn't want it.

"Do you think she's always a mule? Or does she come back with dawn?", he ends up asking, keeping himself from stabbing holes on the paper.

He turns to look at Bonnie, at the anger there, the extreme sense of injustice for this person they don't even know- but whose feelings are already theirs, whether any of the parties want it or not.

Scott thinks that, when she meets his own eyes, hers are like compassion liquefied.

"We have to find this girl", they say in unison.

It's a common necessity at this point.

\--

In one of Bonnie's fourteen witchcraft books there's a spell.

Said spell is supposed to map supernatural creatures in a specific radius, like ten miles.

"It's the best we can come up with right now, so-", she has the book opened, but her eyes are on Scott, asking silently.

They're a team, this is their plan.

"I think it's a good idea...", he voices. It _is_ the best course of action, a first step into finding this person; he can't help but sound hopeful.  "How does it work?", she smiles at him, takes his right hand and put it over their _campus_ ' map which they have very much stolen from their RA's room just a few minutes ago.

Bonnie's hands are calloused, almost as much as his, but the lips around white teeth look very soft, still pink from the lipstick she's used in her Friday night's party.

The muscles of his arms stiffen, and he holds it in.

_(He can't have this. He can't feel this._

_It's bad enough he notices her.)_

It suddenly makes sense. It hits him- the fear. The embarrassment.

The punishment.

He ends up speaking over Bonnie's explanation, not even listening to what she was saying- because _it makes sense_.

"What if is not about what _society_ considers a special creature, but what _she_ , this person that was turned into a headless mule, considers as one?", he's nearly screaming at this point, holding both of Bonnie's hands into his, feeling this excited grin forming.

All he gets it's the eyebrows and a confused frown.

"So- like- this girl considers a person so special that thinking about them in an _immoral_ way turns her into a headless mule?", she spits out, disbelief molding her tone.

But Scott's anything if not stubborn when _he_ believes.

"Yes! See- it's like those situations in which you cause a ruckus in your own house because unconsciously you've been going through stuff? She- she's guilty," and he's up again, walking around their small room, his eyes fleeting. "She _feels_ guilty, and dirty. Like this is something she can't feel- and maybe. Maybe this myth comes into her mind, and- to her-", suddenly Bonnie is up too, holding his elbows, looking at him, dead serious.

"This is her punishment?!"

The excited flies away as soon as it popped up.

"This is her punishment", Scott agrees, voice subdued.

They both swallow it down, staring back at the old book and at the RA's map on Scott's messed up bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't know the myth, tcharan!! It sucks, majorly, but it's also super interesting to consider in relation to religious culture and women's role in it.
> 
> I just have a lot of feelings about this.
> 
> And if you want, I'm on [tumblr](https://a-good-finder.tumblr.com), and it'd be nice to talk about whatever :)


	3. a loner, two charmers and a decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly, they find her thirty minutes later, after being stopped by exactly six students asking if they were lost.
> 
> “Well, that explains so much”, Bonnie sasses, the moment they lay their eyes on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to literally force myself into writing this, it's been a struggle. 
> 
> Before you read, I apologize if the stereotype portrayed here offend you. My intention is to show this stereotype in order to break it, but if its appearance bothers you, I'm sorry. I've written more about it on the notes by the end, so check them out. 
> 
> Enjoy your reading...? :)

Surprisingly, they find her thirty minutes later, after being stopped by exactly six students asking if they were lost.

(Since they couldn’t actually tell them the truth - that they were both a witch and an _empath_ trying to find a self-punishing-repressed person who was bound to turn into a headless mule using a map which was under a spell to show them said creature - Bonnie would give them a patronizingly fake smile while Scott would thank them, but “no, we don’t need help, we’re just exploring”.

If only.)

“Well, that explains so much”, Bonnie sasses, the moment they lay their eyes on her. It bugs Scott, her judgmental eyes, and he checks the magicked-map again. But no, that’s their target, reading the Bible by a tree on one of the opened spaces in campus.

It bugs him because she seems quiet, shy even; she wears glasses, her clothes practically cover every inch of her tanned skin, and her long brown hair hangs in a tight ponytail. It bugs him because she seems austere and serious, but he can feel the tenseness and the unsettledness inside her skin.

Bonnie’s voice takes him back to himself, and he realizes she’s been staring at his own staring for a while now. He makes a humming-question sound, asking her to repeat herself. When he looks at her, her expression is no longer mocking. “What you’re getting from her?”

He swallows and looks down, “Tenseness. Stress”, he wiggles his fingers in a nervous twitch. “I don’t think those words are giving her any relief.” Bonnie’s answer is a click of her tongue.

“Doesn’t look like it”, she adds uselessly. They catch each other’s eyes again, and whatever Bonnie sees on Scott’s makes her hunch her shoulders, sighing. “I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry- I’m- She’s just-”

“No- it’s okay. I get it.”, Scott interrupts, uncomfortable with her rambling. He tries to offer her a small smile, “I’m not sure how we can approach her either.”

“I’m afraid she won’t _want_ me too, y’know”, maybe it’s the first time Scott sees her unsure of herself, and it shocks him enough to give her time to recompose. “Maybe she’s one of those annoying types- can’t stand to see people being something they don’t understand.”

The venom in her words, her posture, the way she clenches her jaw. It gives the impression she’s been through this before- and he closes himself so as to not feel whatever those memories might rise.

Instead he prefers to carefully touch her bony shoulder, and say “I’m sorry.”

 _He can’t have this_.

As a response, Bonnie only blinks at him, her eyes kind, for then to strengthen again, taking a deep breath. “Maybe you should talk to her. Become her friend or something. Charm her to compliance.”

Instantly, Scott removes his hand, half snorting, half looking down. He scratches his neck, says “I don’t think I can charm her into anything. Aren’t you the one with the charms?”, and laughs at his own stupid joke.

He’s trying to make light of the situation, because he’s old enough to sense the compliment, yet when it comes to Bonnie he doesn’t feel mature enough to face it, to acknowledge it.

(It’s silly that she makes him this nervous, especially when _they share a room_. But maybe that’s why.

_God- he doesn’t want her to think he’s a creep._

And that’s one of the reasons why _he_ should be the one talking to the girl. He kind of understands her.)

“Well, I don’t think _I can_ charm her the way you’re implying. But you can _definitely_ do it”, she scoffs and even laughs a little at the joke, then thinks better of it, “Hell, maybe I can, but that wouldn’t be very ethic of me. My grandma taught me well.” She lightens up with pride for a second, then turns to him to gauge his reaction. It’s unnerving how much she does that.

“And my mom also taught me well. I can’t _charm_ her”, he makes a ridiculously exaggerated quoting mark with his fingers, “especially just to get information.”

“To save her!”, Bonnie pleads. They both turn to look at the girl, still enthralled by her book, apparently not aware of her surroundings. That appeals to Scott, who can recognize a loner when he sees one, and noticing that kills his resolve a little. “I mean,” the witch continues, not realizing that her arguments are no longer necessary, “God _knows_ that she needs some action-”, at that, he gives a look, although his lips twitch slightly in amusement. Her voice sobers. “Okay. Become her friend. I assure you you’re very charming, especially when you want to be. I’ve seen you in action.”

The winking is the icing of the cake.

His answer is instantaneous, “What?! No, you’re charming!”, and he sounds like a five year-old. Bonnie laughs, and he’s pretty sure she blushes a little, but it’s hard to tell with the amount of makeup she usually wears.

“Alright, we’re both beautiful and charismatic people. That’s established. Now, go over there and befriend that girl before your cuteness overwhelms me.” Her tone is playful, and her stance is light, but her eyes, the way they bore into him, it turns his insides into goo.

Honestly, he finds it her to say “no” to that.

\--

As usual, though, they need a course of action. They’re both strategic people, it’s how they can _survive_ , really, with their categories, their stereotypes and the tags attached to their faces.

For a few minutes, they sit covertly by a nearby tree, discussing how they’ll approach the girl, what to do in case that plan doesn’t work, what to do if it does, and Scott’s glad he brought his notebook, filling an entire page with notes, arrows and useful information.

He can feel Bonnie’s eyes on him the entire time, although he prefers not to check on what she feels while at it. It’s too dangerous, also too invasive, and his mom’s always told him to be careful, to be respectful. It’s easy to get carried away with a power like that; he’s sure Bonnie feels the same with hers.

“… So, depending on her response, you’ll befriend her too, so we can work on this together-”, he points to the part of his graphic in which this step is stated, as clearly as possible. Bonnie uses her bony fingers to point out another one, circled in red.

“But you’ll tell me everything you guys talk about”, it’s what’s written on the yellowish paper.

He sighs, taps his pen on his knee, that part seems the hardest, so he amends, “If she _wants_ to talk to me, you mean.”

At that, Bonnie smiles, and it’s this fond, open gesture, her eyes alight, her lipstick wearing off. “She’ _ll want_ to talk to you, Scott, trust me on this.” He blames the warmth that smile gives him for his answer.

“I _do_ trust you. It’s myself I’m not completely comfortable with”, he’s an adult, and that’s not something easy to admit.

He isn’t insecure, per se, he’s had a few relationships (three, but who’s counting), and he isn’t afraid of being in a one again, of talking to people, or flirting, even. Yet, the whole situation makes his stomach churn.

It might be the fact that so much is at stake, that he wants to help- but also that he wants to impress Bonnie. A lot.

It’s a problem.

But apparently Bonnie sees it as it is, and it’s both a blessing and a curse when she says, “Well, this isn’t about you. It was your idea to help the girl- you felt whatever it was she was feeling then, and what she’s feeling now, so you know how it sucks”, he holds onto what she’s saying like a lifeline, and doesn’t realize he’s also holding her hand until she grips it back, tight, “You decided to help her. Help her.”

_Get over yourself. Help her._

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The girl they've been looking for, who they believe turns into a headless mule because of repressed thoughts, looks like a stereotypical religious woman, with clothes that cover her entire body, hair tied and is reading a Bible. This will be crucial in her own struggle, and that's a stereotype I plan to approach, deepen and break, eventually; that is just the façade. Anyway, I hope it doesn't offend anyone, I know how these things go.
> 
> Also, Bonnie and Scott's characterizations' been killing me, because they're both the same yet so different from their canon-selves, and I'm trying to be consistent with their personalities in this world, and in their own, and to each other, and uGH- tell me if it sucks, it means a lot. 
> 
> Thank you for reading,
> 
> And if you want, I'm on [tumblr](https://a-good-finder.tumblr.com), and it'd be nice to talk about whatever :)


	4. hands, connections and fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Scott finally gets to their dorm room, it’s almost lunch time and Bonnie’s waiting for him. She’s up as soon as he opens the door, eyes eager. “So, is she wrapped around your little finger?”, she taunts, laughing at her own joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JFC, this was ripped out of my brain. The title is weird, but it's nice weird. Weirdly, I like it.
> 
> Anyway, religion is a big deal in this fanfic, because of the nature of the myth, but not all the characters treat it the same. In this chapter, especially, there's a lot of religious talk. FYI, if this bothers you, if anything upsets or offends you, let me know :)
> 
> Enjoy your reading,

“Excuse me”, he says, using a sheepish tone. His shadow hovers above the reading girl, and only then does she look up, her eyes surprised yet wary. She’s sitting hunched by the tree, both hands holding her opened Bible, and her entire stance seems far too cautious.

She’s feeling cornered.

Scott takes a step back, sensing her discomfort. He forces himself to give a nervous laugh, drying his sweaty palms on his jeans-clad thighs. With a scrunched expression, and a quiet tone, he adds, “I’m sorry… I didn't mean to startle you or anything…”

“What do you want?”, it’s her brisk answer, spoken fast and harshly. Scott immediately thinks back on his high school years, on being alone most of the time, on knowing what was said about him behind his back, on living under that same environment for years and on how difficult it was to get rid of that once someone actually paid attention to him in a positive way; he takes a deep breath and crouches to maintain eye-contact with the girl, he lifts his lips up infinitesimally and pours sincerity out of his eyes.

This needs to work. There’s no second plan.

“Uh… I just had to ask you…”, she quirks an eyebrow, appearing annoyed. “Do you know if there are any religious groups here in this campus?”, then rushes to justify himself, knowing this will only add to the shy/nervous grad student persona he’s trying to sell. “I mean… I saw you reading the Bible and I’ve been looking for pamphlets ‘cause I don’t really know anyone around here and I- you know, miss-”, he looks down both to take a deep breath and to give her the impression he’s ashamed of what’s coming next, but then she beats him to it.

“Staying close to Him, right?”, when he looks up, she’s smiling small and knowing.

Scott’s relieved answering sigh is very sincere.

“Yes, exactly that”, he says, and decides, after checking that she doesn’t feel as cornered, to sit on the grass, happy that they now have a mean of communication, that the first link has been established. He hopes Bonnie is seeing this. “I can always pray by myself, but it’s so much better to share His word with other people, you know.”

Which is not a lie, per se. Scott’s dad used to be very religious himself, he even used to take him and his mom to the church every Sunday, used to make Scott pray for health, for happiness, for money, and to apologize for any mistakes he might’ve made during the day. His mom would indulge his dad a little, maybe knowing his religion was something he clung to when things got too rough, although she was more of an admiring from afar kind of catholic.

But then his dad also clung to alcohol, and that was something his mom would not indulge.

So, thing is: he is lying, but he’s also aware of what he’s saying. He isn’t mocking, he isn’t playing jokes. It’s important to himself, in some degree, to make sure this is settled, that the lies he’s telling are not meant to hurt this girl, but to help her through whatever’s afflicting her.

That’s what he tells himself.

Her smile grows a little after his admission; she sighs and nods in understanding. Then she says, “It was hard for me as well, when I first got into this college. I was far from my aunt, whom I used to live with here in the States, and from my colleagues from our church…”, she touches her Bible softly, “Then I found this group. We meet every Sunday at 6 pm, and we…”

Something passes behind her eyes, a twitching light, and the fingers dancing above the Bible whiten, as if she’s pressing them down. She swallows and Scott can’t pin point what she’s feeling at that moment, but it’s a turmoil.

“You should come.”, it’s what she ends up saying. “It’s held at the leader of the group’s apartment…”, she clears her throat, takes out a piece of paper from the bag that was pillowing her back against the bark. “Here’s the address”, she adds as she gives him a printed paper with tiny letters on.

Scott’s shocked that it worked, to be honest, but he goes with it easily, taking the paper and putting it in his jeans’ back pocket. He smiles to himself and stands up, thinking this is as far as their conversation will go for now, and that he should get back to brief Bonnie on his discoveries.

While he does that, he says, “I’m Scott, by the way”, and when the girl stands up too, she extends her hand as she answers with “And I’m Madalena.”

Now he has a name; weirdly, names are important to him. He smiles both to himself and to Madalena. “Well, it’s really nice meeting you, Madalena. Sorry I scared you a little…?”, and she gives a short laugh, they’re still shaking hands, “And thank you for the information…?”, they share a smile.

“And I’ll see you tomorrow…?”, she mock-imitates his tone, letting go of his hand and picking up her things from the grass. “We usually take some food with us, something for us to eat after the session is over”, she adds, already walking away from him, her stance lighter. “Just bring something and I’m sure you’ll be welcomed”, at that she gives him a bright smile.

He pretends to think hard on it, “So food is the password… Okay!”, they both laugh as she leaves.

With both hands in his pockets, Scott takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know what to think, relieved that their reconnaissance plan worked, but also nervous about this meeting, about keeping appearances, about lying to Madalena. He hopes they won’t have to lie to her for long, that they – although he’ll have to sniff this group out for how they’d feel about Bonnie – will be able to talk to each other frankly, that they’ll solve Madalena’s problem once and for all.

That she'll be happy for longer, instead of scared and running around shifted in shame.

\--

When he gets to their dorm room, it’s almost lunch time and Bonnie’s waiting for him, a small necessaire in her wriggling hands. She’s up as soon as he opens the door, eyes eager.

“So, is she wrapped around your little finger?”, she taunts, laughing at her own joke. Scott blushes despite himself, feeling pinned down by her presence and her bright green eyes, her looking up to his looking down, since her high heels are thrown at one corner of their room.

Shrugging nervously, he says, while he tries to swallow it down, “I kind of have a pray-date tomorrow, actually”, they grin at each other at the pun and he feels so giddy, around this girl, with their plan half-fulfilled.

He even forgets his previous preoccupations, their giggly smiles so close.

Well, then he wants to kiss her.

It’s one of those urges, one of those impulses, like jumping out of a building. It’s shameful and it makes him look down, hiding his even darker blush, although he knows Bonnie must be frowning at his silliness.

God, this is such a problem.

But instead of dealing with it, he says, “Her name’s Madalena and tomorrow her religious group will meet at this,” at that he takes the paper out of his pocket, “address… She said to bring food…?”.

“Oh?”, it’s the answer. Bonnie grabs the paper and reads it quickly, quirks an eyebrow at him, smirks a little, “Pray-picnic date?”, she’s mocking him, and he laughs timidly, more so when she dances her fingers around his ribs, tickling. It makes him too aware, and it settles in his stomach, like something that he’s eaten.

He tastes guilt when he swallows, and maybe Bonnie notices it, sees something on his face, in his eyes, or in the way he squirms away; she steps back, and it’s a testament to how close they’ve become since this morning that she simply asks, “What’s wrong?”, without preambles.

It’s then he realizes, the turmoil Madalena felt in the press of her fingertips on her Bible, the twitching light passing behind her eyes; it’s something he’s well accustomed with, a feeling that matches his own. Now he knows, he understands, he _empathizes_.

So, rather than answering Bonnie’s question, he exhales heavily and says, “I think whatever’s causing her to shift is related to this meeting… And- and I think maybe we can find out what it is tomorrow,” he finishes, using his hands nervously, which only makes the witch’s entire body shift thoughtfully.

"Or who", she adds, looking straight at him, somber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you want, I'm on [tumblr](https://a-good-finder.tumblr.com), and it'd be nice to talk about whatever :)


	5. the edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott liked to think they were both lucky to have gotten each other as roommates. For the mutual understanding regarding their powers and also for protecting one another, any time they needed protecting.
> 
> Honestly, life sucks enough without other people taking a piss on you, and they were outcasts, targets on their backs. They might as well stick together.
> 
> But how can he deal with this? How can he avoid or stop this so she’ll never know the terrible person he is?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I'm on fire? haha This one's more focused on Scott's feelings towards Bonnie and their relationship. It goes on about awkwardness and even shame over sexual thoughts, but they're very specific for Scott and his and Bonnie's context. There's also a small dub-con situation mentioned in the chapter, so if you want details, go to the end of the chapter :)
> 
> Enjoy your reading!

It’s not as if they didn’t know it’d be a person, the root for Madalena’s conflict, their first contact with the myth explained that – very figuratively, yes, but still; they understood the message.

This isn’t some shocking revelation, yet both Scott and Bonnie blink at least three times at each other before they exhale.

“You’ll have to put those _empath_ skills in practice, buddy”, Bonnie says what they’re both thinking; that he’ll have to scrutinize the group in order to catch a reaction.

Truth is- he doesn’t like to use his powers. Usually. It’s good to know when someone is having a bad day or too aggressive to talk to; to gauge their feelings and work with them, to try to slip through the ups and downs of human emotions and make connections, help people, make them feel better and understood.

But, at the same time- it’s invasive. Sometimes those are emotions not even the people feeling them are aware of, and then comes Scott Delgado picking them apart with a shift of his eyebrows.

Worst of all is when they are aware of those emotions, yet are too scared to do anything about it, or too ashamed to be even having those. Which brings Scott back to the fact that Bonnie’s still staring at him.

“Yeah”, he answers lamely, looking around their room, avoiding her eyes.

“You’re acting weird”, she states, going back to her bed for her shower supplies spread on it; with a hand-full, she turns around to watch him again. “I’d probe this further, but I can’t waste my bathroom break otherwise I’ll have college boys up my throat”, her aloof tone doesn’t match her tensing arms and clenching jaw, or the way her toes wriggle on the carpet.

Scott takes the bait.

“D’y’want me to come with you?”, he blurts out, pouring earnest support through his eyes, meaning to be there for her in case any of those _college boys_ they share their dorm with decide to use their bathroom.

It’s not like she couldn’t defend herself better than Scott could, but he liked to offer nonetheless.

They’ve never done this- this friendship thing. There was amity, obviously, and they have always been polite to each other, helpful when necessary, worried and supportive if the situation called for it.

Scott liked to think they were both lucky to have gotten each other as roommates. For the mutual understanding regarding their powers and also for protecting one another, any time they needed protecting.

And Bonnie’s adventures to their dorm’s bathroom were an example of that. Of them needing protection.

Like when Scott _kind of_ drunkenly (as in with no consciousness of what he was doing, a few memories and a lot of regrets) hooked up with one of those stereotyped frat boys, and then had a thirty-minute video of it uploaded on Facebook, shared and spread all around the internet.

_They still bully him for it, stalk him sometimes, laugh at his face and at his back, call him names._

So, he and Bonnie were never exactly friends, but whenever he came back to their room to sleep or study or wallow in the unfairness of their ridiculous society, she’d nod and smile, or offer him take out, and just not judge him like everyone else was. It meant a lot.

Honestly, life sucks enough without other people taking a piss on you, and they were outcasts, targets on their backs. They might as well stick together.

Bonnie’s response to his offer, though, is not what he expects – a thankful smile or nod, or even a grip on the shoulder. She merely blinks at him, smirking widely, and says, “Well, that’s a tempting offer”, leaving Scott spluttering an apology, red-faced and so embarrassed. She goes out the door with a small laugh, probably thinking that it’s funny, it’s a joke, it isn’t serious.

When it is, for Scott. It very much is. It’s serious and he hates it.

\--

How can he help Madalena with her feelings when he can’t even sort through his own?

It’s been around twenty minutes since Bonnie left for her shower and he’s sit in bed, hunched in the exact same position, waging a war against his own mind.

The problem isn’t having a silly crush on or being ridiculously attracted to a cute girl (or guy, or person). He’s had a couple infatuations before; not as many as your average teenager, since he’s always needed _more_ to have feelings towards someone. But, you know, it’s happened in the past. This isn’t unusual for him.

He’s had the whole _I want to be with this person both in sexual and very romantic ways_ , he’s dealt with it, and even acted on it on two occasions. So this isn’t the problem, this isn’t what’s eating him alive.

It’s _Bonnie_.

The problem is that this isn’t the dorm Bonnie should be in. She’s a girl, and this is a boys’ dorm. She wears tight skirts and high heels and although he knows a few boys who wear feminine clothes, they still identify as boys, when Bonnie’s a _girl_.

(And that’s a problem in _so many ways_ he can hardly wrap his head around it.)

The problem is that they practically live together and sometimes Scott wakes up and she’s sleeping, vulnerable and soft, and he _wants_ , but he shouldn’t. He can’t.

Like with his powers, it’s invasive. He feels like a creep- like she trusts him to not disrespect her wishes, _herself_ , unlike most of the habitants of their building, but he still thinks of her _these ways_ and it sucks. It’s a problem he can’t fix.

He’s happy their meddling with Madalena’s issue has brought them closer, but how can he deal with this? How can he avoid or stop this so she’ll never know the terrible person he is?

It’s then that a dude passes by their door, and Scott senses him walking in the hallway, worried, stressed and slightly horny, wishing for coffee or running or sex, he isn’t sure. That’s standard for college these days, and it’s been years since Scott’s learned how to regulate his powers so that not everything’ll get to him, but right now he’s so out of control, drowning in his own emotions, that he lets them seep into the other boy, feeling him blush and hide his face from another student going the opposite way.

Well, at least he doesn’t need his powers to empathize with Madalena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as stated on the first chapter, Bonnie's transitioning from male to female, but, being her in an early state of her transition, and being the world a very fucked up place, she wasn't considered girl enough to live in the girls' dorm (I'm looking at you bathroom regulamentations in the US), so she and Scott found themselves in the situation we've seen. Because she isn't in her appropriate place (amongst other girls), in Scott's head he isn't respecting her at all, which is discussable, he feels inadequate and honestly a creep in his attraction. Honestly, those feelings he has are close to me, although this isn't a situation I've ever encountered myself in; so if you in any way find them offensive, please let me know.
> 
> Also, in this chapter Scott mentions having had sex while drunk, and that it was filmed and posted online against his knowledge. The whole thing is pretty icky, but he doesn't go into details. But, you know, FYI, trigger warning.
> 
> Take care,
> 
> And if you want, I'm on [tumblr](https://a-good-finder.tumblr.com), and it'd be nice to talk about whatever :)


	6. the food freaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Scott and Bonnie's plan, the empath meets up with Madalena and they, foods in hand, walk to the apartment where the religious meeting's going to take place. While going there, they bond over food and cultural differences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, so I'm sorry. I'd like to thank Cecília, for cheering me into writing, engaging my shitty ideas, and reading this for my anxiety's sake. Also Joanna, for always giving thoughtful comments. Apparently you two are this story's biggest fans? Or only fans, whatever lol Anyway, thank you!!
> 
> Enjoy your reading,

It’s a swallow it all down and get to the job at hand.

Scott and Bonnie had spent around two hours in town, going from bakery to coffee shop to supermarket to cake shop back to the same bakery they’d started on, trying to find the perfect _hello accept me in this group although I know close to nothing about religiousness apart from what my distanced father has taught me and I need to fit in_ treat. It was clear they both had very different views from what it consisted of, and that trip was full of _ews_ and _my gods_ and _how can you not like this_.

Somehow, it was both exhilarating and exhausting. Knowing how he felt then-- Bonnie hanging by his arm, heels not as high, skirt not as short, lipstick not as strong. The sun shone on them, walking around downtown. He felt normal. That was normal, they were friends, they were close.

Each smile and each new information brought it all back. Swallowing it wasn’t always easy, but he held on, as he did with everything.

At last, the decision came in the form of an Italian dessert they found on the sidewalk, being sold by an old lady. They agreed it could be sickening if eaten too much, but in the midst of what they expected to be a picnic, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Another important point was the clothes. It’s not as if Scott owned anything but Henleys, jeans, and button ups, but still.

“I have to look trustworthy”, was his main argument. Although pointing out he couldn’t hope for a resolution so soon, for Madalena to spill out all her issues and for the spell to be broken, Bonnie gave in and helped him choose something that both showed respect and made him seem cool.

They spent close to two hours going through his wardrobe, Scott sitting on the floor, Bonnie bent over his drawers, and it wasn’t as embarrassing as it might be. There were startling moments in which she’d open the wrong drawer, and he’d see from her expression the smirk and the eye-brow raise.

He’d swallow, and it seemed it’s got more and more solid.

Thankfully, they preferred not to change anything about Scott’s life, too. He didn’t know how he’d make up a whole new person, anyway. Better to be shown bare, no lying and no making up stories.

“Apart from the Jesus seeking thing, you mean”, Bonnie would add with a wink.

Which wasn’t helpful at all.

Soon there he is, waiting for Madalena in front of their campus’ entrance, a covered tray of Italian Fudge making his hands sweat.

It’s sooner than he’d hoped, but also too late. He can’t quite parse what he’s feeling, which can only mean he’s ignoring it and burying it as deep as he can, for as long as he’ll be able to.

\--

It gets a little easier when Madalena welcomes him with a big smile and a pat on his shoulder, eyes shiny under the evening sunset. Her hair is tighter than he’s ever seen, but her clothes are lose and comfortable. It’s an interesting contradiction.

“Good evening, Scott! How are you doing?”, she says. Her tone is cheerful and light, and they start walking just as Scott responds in kind, repeating _good_ too many times to be socially acceptable. Madalena’s nice enough not to point it out.

He’s nervous, sue him.

Also, her voice might be light, her clothes might be light—she isn’t.

It’s something he discussed with Bonnie, deeply. The whole _you’re an empath do your empath thing_ , in which he’d have to access strangers’ emotions in order to, yes, help Madalena. But did he mention his mom’s taught him well?

Just as her hair, so tight it seems painful, there is a strain around her eyes, her shoulders. She _feels_.

She feels it so deeply; it’s almost a fear, a phobia. It makes him frown as he asks, “‘Bout you? Are you okay?”, he tries to keep up with her long legs, look her in the eyes. She’s wearing a small purse diagonally across her torso, hanging from her shoulder, it looks heavy. “D’y’wanna help carrying that?”

As a response, she grins, small lips shifting sideways, “Nah—don’t worry. It looks big cos I’m taking a shit ton of _coxinhas_ in it. Too lazy to carry it on my hand like you’re doing.”

“You’re taking _what_?”

She actually _laughs_! At least then she’s lighter, body sagging.

“It’s a fried thing filled with chicken—uh… I don’t even know how to explain it…? It’s regional, kinda”, at that she shrugs, “You’re gonna love it, everybody does. Anyway, what did _you_ bring?”

“Uh, something named Italian Fudge, although I also have no idea what it’s in it. It’s just really good”, they share a smile. “I think we’ll win this? Like, the best food of the meeting? Can we do a contest?”

“Don’t know…”, but she’s teasing. There’s a glimmer in her eyes. “Some folks take this really seriously, like, there was this time this dude, Matt, cooked, like, I don’t even know! It was so good.”

“You don’t even know?”, they just left campus and he’s grinning, bounce in his step.

“It tasted like fish? But like good fish, not the bad shitty fish you eat here at the States.”

“Hang on—we eat shitty fish? Wait, that’s not even my first question--”

“Yes, it’s terrible fish! Can’t really explain it”, she interrupts, laughing.

“Where are _you_ from? Is there good fish there?”

“Dude, so good! Also, I’m Brazilian, _etecetera_ , _etecetera_.”

Madalena has this way of speaking that is so different from the first time they spoke. Then, she was cautious of him, but now she lets go. She’s nonchalant, talking fast yet lazily, and although he can notice a little difference in her accent, she sounds so natural.

It’s happy. She’s happy, now.

\--

“Well, I’m Californian, nice to meet you”, he jokes. It’s a terrible joke, but she laughs politely, takes it in stride.

“I could say I’m Curuense, but that would be weird.”

“I have no idea what you just said”, he didn’t mean to be rude, and for a moment he fears she’ll be upset, but she smiles even wider, as if making fun of him.

“It’s a _very_ small city—like… Not even a capital of a state or anything, not even close, actually. It’s in the middle of nowhere”, she actually looks thoughtful, trying to explain it to him, so Scott interrupts her, in hopes to ease things up.

“I know how that goes. My hometown is pretty unknown too. And in the middle of nowhere. And pretty shitty”, there goes a redundancy. His hometown _sucks_.

Spirts lifted.

“What made you leave?”, she suddenly asks, then her face does this side-eye look and the lines of her mouth tense, “I mean, if you don’t mind my asking…”

“Oh! Don’t worry! It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to study in a good university and have that whole college experience, you know? I couldn’t have that there”, or anything, for that matter.

They fall into a silence only interrupted by the sounds of their own steps on the pavement, not a single soul out on the streets on a Sunday evening. Scott wants to ask Madalena about what made her leave, as well, but he’s afraid it’ll set something off. Yes, the reason he’s talking to her at all is basically to _see_ when something goes off, but here, still tasting their laughter and how relaxed she just looked, he doesn’t want to.

So instead he changes the subject.

They’ve just turned around a corner, the street lights illuminating them. Scott can count on one hand the number of people they’ve passed by this last fifteen minutes. It _is_ Sunday, after all. He can’t imagine why anyone would want to leave the comforts of their homes. Except for this specific group of people.

“Hey, how many people will be there? Just so I can prepare myself…”, he asks jokingly, but actually curious. Madalena answers with a thoughtful mouth sound, then shrugs.

“Like 10 people, tops. We’re not that many. It’s interesting the religious divisions you guys set here in the US. I mean, in Brazil the lines are _way_ more pronounced, but it’s still weird.”

 “How come?”

“Can’t explain it…”, although by her frown she really wants to. “It’s just different.”

“Is Brazil really that different? I mean, I know how the media presents it, but it does the same to Mexico, and I can tell you it’s all bullshit, so…”

“Most of it is—but not all. We’re more similar than you think. Except for your weird taste in food”, she finishes with a smirk.

“You can’t have eaten like— _pancakes_ and think that. Or, or apple pie!”

“Ugh!! Why would anyone think apple would be a good pie filling? It’s so gross!!”

Suddenly they’re laughing and speaking loud, adding to the cacophony of their own steps.

“Why would anyone think apple is _not_ a good filling? Seriously! Have you ever eaten it?”

“Yes! Totally hated it. I also don’t get why you put bacon in everything—”, Scott actually stops in his tracks.

“Please tell me you don’t hate bacon.”

“I don’t”, he breathes out exaggeratedly, for comic effect, but also because bacon is sacred. “But it doesn’t mean I understand your obsession for it.”

“Cultural shit, I can’t understand it either,” she makes a face as if saying _can’t argue with that_ , and they walk in silence for a short while until Madalena breaks it with a sudden laugh. Scott can’t help but be startle and look at her in confusion.

“What?”, he asks, laughing a little too, getting caught up.

“This is so strange. Like, our meeting was strange. And then I’m taking you to a religious meeting but all we talk about is food. Isn’t it strange?”

“Why would that be strange? I mean, how _did_ you meet the others?”

“Usually in class—it just… It took longer than one day”, she quickly corrects herself. “It’s not bad, though! Just strange, s’all.”

“About the food, I think it’s always a good topic”, Scott adds, smiling a little. Even though she used the word “strange” many times, he can’t get any strangeness from her, only amusement.

So far so good.

“It is, it is”, she agrees. “It’d be funnier if none of us were studying Gastronomy.”

“Are you?”, he sure as hell isn’t.

Madalena then makes a sound that’s similar to “nah”, but too nasal to be it, and adds, “You aren’t?”

“Absolutely not”, Scott answers, already smiling. “I guess we’re just food freaks.”

“That’s the kind of freak I don’t mind being”, she states, then looks at him, “What _are_ you studying, anyway? You look like a future doctor, but looks can be deceiving.”

“You’re actually the first person that’s ever told me I look like a doctor, apart maybe from my mom”, by her grimace, it seems Madalena understands it far too well. “But yeah, I’m about to become a vet.”

“Well, not the kind of doctor I was expecting, but _nice_!”, she even makes it sound cheerful.

“Thanks… Wait, what kind of doctor did you think I was?”

“Something like neurologist or oncologist, I don’t know.”

“That’s very specific.”

“Yeah… Anyway, what do _you_ think I study?”, she asks then, eyes mischievous.

Scott tries to take in her lose clothes, her kind eyes and sharp features; he tries to ignore his first impression of her, all tense holding a Bible, or his _first_ impression of her, terrified and lost inside a supernatural creature. It’s difficult, too difficult; and it’s then he realizes how impossible this mission he and Bonnie set themselves to will be. He hardly knows this woman, despite being able to access her inmost feelings.

His mom always told him people are not their feelings, and he’s always found this the strangest of things, hardly ever being able to differentiate them. If not their feelings, then what are people?

\--

“Honestly, you look like a lawyer”, he ends up saying.

“We don’t have law school here”, it’s her answer, and he can’t help but flinch with his whole face, focused.

“Shit… I have no idea—what do you study?”

“No! I’m not saying! Come on—play the game!”, she bounces in her sandals, expression playful.

“Uh… You want to be a teacher?”

Her answer is an alarm-like sound, screechy and high. “Next!”, he can’t help but laugh out loud.

“I don’t know! Hell… Archeologist?”

“ _What_? Where did you even--? Oh, hang on.”

They’ve stopped in front of an orangish apartment building, and Scott looks at Madalena expectantly, albeit increasingly nervous.

“Sorry, I suck at guessing… I guess”, he finishes lamely, while she presses an intercom button. Her face is delighted, so he’s not worried about messing up their conversation, but there’s a growing acute tenseness to her jaw when a female voice responds, saying “It’s open, Lena! Could hear your voice from afar!”

Madalena turns to him and smiles, her crooked incisors shining under the yellow street light. “Don’t worry”, she says, “I study graphic design, which I bet you’d have never guessed in a gazillion lifetimes.”

“You can say that again”, he answers, grinning at her.

“Oh, I will. Wait until you meet the other guys”, she winks while opening the door, making a motion for him to come in first, which he does.

\--

Walking up the stairs, Scott can almost ignore the reason he’s doing so. He’s been to so many meeting at strangers’ houses since starting college he literally can’t recall, so this is not a first, nor is it terrifying in any way.

But it’s _almost_ , so the feeling must be similar to soldiers going to war, he imagines. There’s something he needs done by the end of this day, and it’ll determine everything else; their whole plan, his and Bonnie’s. He doesn’t know _how_ it can _not_ work, but the idea that it might eats a little at him.

Especially after spending this twenty-something minutes talking to Madalena, getting to know her—he just wants her problems to be solved. More than ever, he knows something bothers her, and for the life of him he can’t fathom why someone like her would let anything be in the way of her own happiness.

Which only means it’s big; which only means it’s important.

It’s time to brace himself.

A light-haired woman opens the door for them, smiling from ear to ear, blue eyes gleaming; she says, “Hey! You must be Scott! Name’s Rosalie and I’m very happy you’re joining us today!”

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know, I like to approach cultural differences via food, sue me.
> 
> FYI, these are [coxinhas](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coxinha). They are, if done well, the best food you'll ever eat in your life; if not, they're pretty bad lol Also, "Curuense" is what we call a person that was born in São Luís do Curu, a very small and very poor city in Ceará, one of the northeastern states in Brazil. It's where my mom's parents are from, so call it a small homage. Next one won't take so long, [winks]
> 
> And if you want, I'm on [tumblr](https://a-good-finder.tumblr.com), and it'd be nice to talk about whatever :)


	7. of otherness and recognition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Rosalie's, Scott meets new people, Madalena gets distracted, and a whole lot of reflection is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, Scott isn't 100% comfortable in such a religious environment because he isn't a religious person, that's all.

Scott hasn’t prayed in about fifteen years, so when he and the other six people in Rosalie’s small apartment gather around in a circle, holding hands and closing their eyes, he feels really out of place.

It’s easier because their eyes are closed, so nobody sees that Scott isn’t chanting whatever prayer this is as well. He belatedly thinks he and Bonnie should have done some research on prayers and catholic customs; it’s a heavy-bottom of the stomach kind of feeling, like when you forget a topic for a college essay, or an ingredient for a recipe. Of course, he can always say that, since he grew up in a non-catholic environment, he was taught to pray in silent, and prefers this way. Yes, that’s his excuse.

The initial prayer, as it was explained to him by Madalena, was a recent habit they’ve acquired after a suggestion from Sam, one of their most devoted members. She said it was a good idea, to begin their meeting with calm hearts and open spirits.

Funny thing is: most of the hearts in that apartment were not calm, and all those six (seven, he can be humble enough as to include himself) spirits were _not_ open.

It figures. This is a place for encounter with God – with a capital G. They come with a week-worth of problems and issues, thoughts and questions, to pour them here by the light of friendly faces and shared beliefs. Scott expects them to _leave_ in relaxed stances, but he isn’t surprised by the figurative hunched-ness he sees.

Yes, he sees. He hasn’t closed his eyes. He’s not praying, and he hopes God forgives him for it. To be honest, he has more important matters. Like, for example, take in the six new people he’s going to become acquainted with while they solve Madalena’s problems; or, you know, take in Madalena’s body language, as well as the language only _he_ can read.

She’s holding his hand lightly, her fingers rough and calloused, although thin and delicate. On her other side is Rosalie, a concentrated expression, almost frowny, as if this is the most important and serious message she’ll ever deliver. It must be, for what he’s getting from the prayer. He’s pretty sure he’s heard this one before, even participated in chanting it, but for the life of him he just can’t remember its name or its words.

While Rosalie looks as focused as you can be when sending a message to God, Madalena is distracted. It feels as if her mind is divided into two parts. He can’t parse it. If he could put it literally, it’s like one side of her body is blue while the other is red. Like when he’s studying and Bonnie’s anywhere near him, and he can’t stop side-looking at her, eyes drawn, his attention split, wanting to flee to whatever she’s doing. It’s why he usually studies in the library whenever she’s in their room—

Oh _God_.

\--

She’s been stiff the whole time.

Madalena, he meant.

After Rosalie’s warm welcome– which even included a _hug_ — he was introduced to the three people that had already arrived. They were Sam, a tall muscular Asian man, who smiled politely at him from afar, Ronald, another man, this time skinny, his dark skin contrasting prettily to his bright green eyes when he beamed at Scott and shook his hand, and Gwen, her body big and pale, who waved at him from the couch. He was asked then to put his Italian Fudge on the table in the kitchen, Madalena following him. She seemed distant.

“They seem cool”, he said, trying to pull her into a conversation. It was unnerving how different she _felt_ from before.

“Yeah”, was the response, “Elen is still to arrive, you’ll like them the best. I think they’re in some Animal Protection group. There’re more, sometimes, but not everybody can always make it, especially this late into the semester.” Her tone was dismissive, but not of him, or of this Ellen person; not even of the people who couldn’t always come. She was distracted.

“Oh! Are they going to be a vet too?”, they’d put their foods on the table, Scott finally seeing the _coxinhas_ Madalena had been telling him about. “You sure they’re as good as you say?”, he asked, pointing at the tear-shaped food. That brought a smile out of Madalena.

“Uh…”, she pretended to think, “Yes!! Just wait till you taste them!”, she said, poking his arm playfully. “I don’t think Elen’s a vet though. They’re new here, some of us are still getting used to them, you know,” she shrugged uncomfortably, “But they’re always talking about the animals they’re protecting somewhere in Cali’s countryside.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll like them”, he stated, still trying to lighten the mood. He figured, though, that he should let Madalena feel whatever it is she wants to feel, even if it’s bad. It’d work on his favor, and maybe they’d be able to help her faster. It’s not as if he likes to notice someone he’s learning to appreciate in a turmoil as big as the one he knows Madalena must be working herself to be, but if it’ll help…

Once they’d put their food on the kitchen, Scott still eyeing the _coxinhas_ strangely, for comic effects, mostly, he and Madalena went back to the living room. While at it, Scott made sure to file Elen’s existence and acceptance in the group for later, to tell Bonnie. Maybe, if they can accept a non-binary person (as it seems it’s the case) and even be sure to use the right pronouns, why wouldn’t they be just as to Bonnie? He sure as hell could use her help and her wit right now.

Also her company.

\--

It’s now close to seven pm, they’re almost finished with the chanting, and Elen still hasn’t arrived. Scott’s a little worried Madalena’s painted the situation for him, and he tells himself to ask about it later, when they’re returning.

Now, however, he has other concerns.

Rosalie comes up to him when they say their “amen” in a perfect unison, tells him they’ll sit on her carpet in a circle to share their thoughts and issues with each other, under the watchful eyes of God. She actually uses those exact words, her voice calm and her eyes warm. Scott thinks she’s a good leader, and that her belief must be really powerful if she can say things like that unwaveringly. She’s also easy to read, and the only person in their group whose emotions are not conflicted.

He likes her already.

The first person to speak is, unsurprisingly, Rosalie, being the head of the group and all. She talks about a few homeless people that have been attacked near their campus, about visit to them in the hospital; she doesn’t give details as to what happened to them, as to specific injuries, but then goes off about the attackers. In a hard voice, she reminds them that those people are probably students like them, who share their classes and their dorm rooms, that they could be their neighbors. They could be one of them.

There’s uneasiness within the group, because nobody likes to look at themselves and see a person that could do something like that.

“In moments like these, besides looking at the other, besides helping, I think we should also look at ourselves. We should check our foundations, to make sure that the way we _see_ people is altruist other than selfish. I think being selfish is the easiest thing to do, and we should always be watchful of ourselves, you know. We should never think these attackers are _others_ , because they aren’t. They’re humans just like us”, she finishes, her voice sounding almost pleading over the thoughtful silence. Scott didn’t know about these attacks, but he isn’t surprised. It’s true what she says, this is what humans do; and although he likes to believe in the best of his kind, he also knows they’re capable of the worst. Hell, he’s been their victim.

After Rosalie, Ronald and Madalena share their views about this occurrence, both shocked and saddened. They seem to be the most outspoken ones, besides their leader, and Scott notices the care and fondness Rosalie holds in her eyes for both of their speeches. They’re very different, too, Ronald speaking with his hands, eyes wide and young, about hearing of this from one of his closest friends, and thinking about other “minorities” (he even makes quotation marks with his fingers; Scott finds him very cute) who’ve suffered. Madalena’s voice is as hard as Rosalie’s was, saying she’s visited them with the blond woman during the week, and that there were children who’ve been hurt as well. She says there was something in their eyes that she couldn’t, wouldn’t forget.

“It speaks volumes of our capacity for evil when we aren’t able to recognize ourselves while looking at one of ours. I felt pity, and I hated it, because pity and violence are both rooted in not seeing yourself in someone else. It’s dangerous and terrible. I just hope they find whoever did this, but I have little faith something will be done.”

“You think they’re one of the rich kids?”, Scott can’t help but ask. It wouldn’t be surprising; actually it’d be very predictable.

“By the description we were given, yes”, comes the answer from Rosalie.

You see, Scott’s a problem solver, but this is a problem he doesn’t think he can solve, at least not now. His mom’s always told him he should pick his battles, otherwise he’d lose himself.

“The least we could do then is help these people how we can”, Rosalie adds. The others nod, Scott along with them. He can feel their worry and empathy for these victims’ pain, but what Madalena said was true. This is pity, not recognition.

For a full second, Scott even wonders if it’s pity, too, that led him to help Madalena; but then he remembers how she felt, how he could taste her human fear, almost, and how that connection drove him to action. He also understands her, her motives, at least generally, too well for it to be something as distanced as pity. Then a thought crashes at him; is pity what Bonnie feels, then? He can’t imagine her relating to his and Madalena’s restrictions.

If it is, would she pity him too?

\--

They decide to all put the victims of the attacks in their prayers, as well as planning a visit each during the week, to show support and care for them. It’s not asked if those people will return to the streets, or how long they’ll stay in the hospital. Some of them look haunted, as if to make these questions, but then the subject is changed when Rosalie mentions a small token of a catholic saint her mother has presented her with. Scott thinks it’s the Virgin Mary, but he can’t really tell. He tries to look solemn while the others tell Rosalie how beautiful she is, touching the object and blessing themselves.

Madalena asks if she can hold her, the token, and for the rest of the meeting, she doesn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these new people I'm introducing. I've thought about giving them Teen Wolf or TVD names, but I prefer to give them characteristics... Like, for example, Ronald is totally Mason, etc. etc.!! Anyway, I like them. They're also cool, I guess.  
> Hope you've enjoyed it,
> 
> And if you want, I'm on [tumblr](https://a-good-finder.tumblr.com), and it'd be nice to talk about whatever :)


	8. the colors of human interaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the religious meeting continues, they venture into deeper discussions and connect over their own personal issues. Scott finally understands Madalena's contradictions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I really like this chapter, but I shoud warn you that Scott remembers that thing about his sex video leaking to the entire campus. Although I'm pleased with how he reacts to it, and the whole scene was damn good to write, I feel like I should warn people about the possibly triggering aspect of it all. Also, there's discussion about premarital sex.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

Scott thinks they’re going to eat now, that this part of the meeting is over, when Sam raises his hand. Rosalie looks at him strangely, her feelings confused as to why he’d _raise his hand_ to talk. He seems nervous, is the thing, and of all of them he’s the most troubled one. His feelings are miserable and sad, but also determined and sure, as if there is a decision he wishes he hadn’t made, but which he doesn’t regret.

“Sam…?”, Madalena says, small. Her tone is gentle, and Scott realizes Sam’s emotions have overwhelmed him to the point of tears, yet his eyes are the only ones that speak at the moment.

Sometimes, Scott revels in this. It’s when one person exhales emotions, in a group, and this group is so connected, they out themselves. They’re nothing but this person’s reflected feelings, nothing if not support, putting themselves second in such a way that an _empath_ can _sense_ it. Ronald, Rosalie, and Gwen – who hadn’t said a word since greeting Scott – had been in peace, both calmed from their discussion by the token, although thoughtful and serious, and Madalena herself was back in her blue and red state, distracted and split. Sam’s tears don’t even reach his jaw before they’re all turned to him, their feelings forgotten for the time being.

Privately, Scott’s happy he’s got to _see_ this, that moments like these are his. He thinks of maybe sharing them with Bonnie, but he’s sure she’ll call him lame; and it’s not as if he can explain what this is. It’s empathy in its purest form, maybe; and he’d know.

\--

When called by Madalena, Sam sniffs and speaks, voice low and subdued. It seems like this is something he’s been hardening himself to share with them, psyching himself over it. Scott can only hope they’ll be able to help.

He says, “Adelaide broke up with me yesterday”, there’s a collective breaking of hearts and gasps following this statement, so Scott assumes Sam and Adelaide were a known couple.

“Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry!”, Rosalie tells him, her eyes full and compassionate. She stretches herself to hold his hand, which is seemly appreciated by the small smile he sends her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yes”, he nod-answers. More tears fall from his eyes, and he takes a deep breath. “She told me she couldn’t wait. She didn’t want to. That she understood why I did it, that my faith was one of the reasons she—” here his voice breaks a little “she loved me, but _she_ couldn’t do it. That this isn’t something she thinks it’s necessary, and that she wasn’t trying to convince me, but that she _couldn’t do it_. I—I tried to tell her, you know, that thing we talked about… It isn’t easy for me as well, but I knew—” he takes another deep breath “God would bless for our waiting! He’d see our relationship for its sacredness”, he’s clutching Rosalie’s hand, heart bleeding out of his eyes, his pores. It breaks Scott’s heart a little too. His pain was a clear cut, raw against Rosalie’s living room lights; his words were also clear, the belief pouring out of them, something that helped him stand up straight against misfortune.

“It wouldn’t be long”, he continues, voice taking a sobbing take, “We graduate in no more than two years. We’d have our own house, our own life, and then, after the sacrament of the marriage, we’d know each other fully in body, because God would’ve acknowledged us in soul! How could she _not_ think this is necessary?”

Oh, they’re talking about sex.

Uh oh.

\--

Scott feels very uncomfortable all of sudden. This is not something he’s ever expected to discuss during a catholic meeting, that’s for sure. He looks around the room, trying to confirm that he’s not the only one totally out of this depth, but he _can’t meet their eyes_. It hits him, hard, that he can’t—he can’t talk about this with these people. While Sam’s wanted to wait more than two years to _be_ with his beloved, Scott’s pretty sure everyone on _campus_ knew what he looked like when he came. Besides other intimate things about him and his body.

It’s not as if he thinks what happened to him was his fault, or that he’s _dirty_ for enjoying sex with another man. That’s what everybody else thinks. He just—he hates it. Hates the memories of that day, of the drinks someone must have given him, of the bed he woke up on; hates Theo Raeken. Not himself, though. He won’t hate himself.

“It’s not you, Sam”, Scott finds himself saying, and raises his eyes to meet the other man’s. They’re wide and hurt. “It’s not her either. I mean, you made a choice, she made a different one. It hurts, but you both are certain of your decisions. It wasn’t for nothing, you know?”, at that Sam nods a little, his mouth stretching in a bitter smile.

“We wanted different things”, he says.

“And you both think they’re the right things for you”, Rosalie pipes in.

“Each one of you is right in your own terms”, Gwen says, not looking at anyone, eyes downcast. “It’s a discussion I always have with my family. They—like,” then she hunches on herself, elbows on knees, face serious. “Like. They see shit in a way, and they expect me to see the same shit they see, get it?”

She still can’t look at any of them. Her feelings are a hurricane.

“There’s this… Theory, study, I don’t know”, all eyes are on Gwen, but she seems far away while she explains. “It says that although people's brains tend to behave similarly when they are born, neurons are not configured to respond to color in a default way. Which means that we may all agree that Sam’s t-shirt is red, but it’s still a different red for each. Or something. And we only agree that this is red because someone once told us.”

Silence falls, and Gwen exhales, some weight leaving her chest. It seemed wrong, or off-putting, and Scott feels uncomfortable for a full minute, in which the whole group seems to be lost in thought before Ronald says, “That… doesn’t seem right, now, does it?”

“There must be a limit”, says Scott, out of nowhere. He knows each person is now in their own bubble, the empathy environment broken by the triggering of their own issues. “I mean… If two people start a fight; there’s a possibility both are right,” he looks at Sam, whose eyes are hazy and unfocused, “or both are wrong. Or—”

“Or one of them is right”, Ronald says, and then he looks at Scott, and for some reason the look they share makes Scott feel naked, as if all his secrets were unveiled. As if Ronald knows exactly what he’s thinking about.

Not in a telepath way, but in an I-know-who-you-are-and-what-you’ve-been-through kind of way. Scott gulps.

He’s not ashamed. He is _not_. The whole situation is pretty black and white to him. It was his decision to go to that party although he only knew three to four people by name. It was his decision to have fun and drink. It was his decision to get drunk, to make new friends and to dance. It was his decision to flirt with Theo, and it was his decision to accept the drink he gave him. It might even have been his decision to have sex with him, who knows, he was pretty wasted, and Theo was hot.

It wasn’t his decision to film everything and post it online the next day.

He won’t be ashamed of an action that wasn’t his, although he’s been, for a long time. He raises his head, staring back at Ronald, who gives him a tiny cute smile, just an acknowledgment.

Small victories.

\--

“But how do we know the limit?”, Sam asks Madalena, directly, his face once again troubled. He’s back at feeling guilty, something he must have felt deeply after his break up with Adelaide. How his views of relationships are seen as backward and unnecessary, how much she’s sacrificed for them; he’s too devoted, he feels. Sam’s eyes are wet again, but Madalena doesn’t seem to notice, too caught up in her own arguments, more red than blue now.

“It’s easy”, she answers with a smirk, not at them, but maybe at a memory she won’t share. “The limit is the other.”

“Let’s take the example of the homeless and their attackers”, Rosalie chimes in, a glint in her eyes, “Maybe they both see themselves as the heroes, the right ones. But are they? No!”, she puts her other hand on Madalena’s knee, excited, suddenly, with where the discussion is going, with what can be learned from it. “It’s not! Because the limit is—”

Then it hits him, all of sudden, what Madalena’s contradictions are about. It’s difficult to concentrate on anything else.

\--

As soon as he reaches his dorm, Scott runs up the stairs to their bedroom, anxious to tell Bonnie of his discoveries. It’s not only the feeling of understanding, of something unveiled so easily to him, but also the anxiety itself. He needs to tell her what was discussed, and how he felt about it. He needs to be open about Theo and the video, and the acceptance he’s found in Ronald’s eyes.

He doesn’t think, not properly, already making up the conversation in his head, wondering what Bonnie will say about this and that—he simply opens the door to their room and comes up face to face to Bonnie and a girl he’s seen before tangled in bed, only the shadows created by the light from the hallway stopping Scott from a full view of their naked bodies.

“Uh…”, is all he says before the whole situation hits him and he closes the door quickly, his face burning up in embarrassment and humiliation.

But also in hurt.

He won’t worry about this. He can’t worry about this. It’s none of his business, and honestly he should have knocked.

Which is what he tells Bonnie when she and the girl (Malena? Selena? He seriously doesn’t remember her name) leave the bedroom, hair a mess and clothes misaligned. The girl winks at Bonnie before leaving, strutting along the hallway with the confidence of someone who’s just gotten lucky.

He’d know.

Bonnie simply raises her eyebrows at him, not pissed, not bothered. She’s amused, actually, and part of Scott hurts even more at that, although it’s a relief she doesn’t notice. Why would she anyway?

“It’s fine”, she says, going back to the room, Scott following her and sitting on his own bed. “I should have put something on the door, anyway.” She sits down on her bed, and looks at him expectantly. “So?”

He stutters, he can’t help it. “We totally need to create some sort of procedure for this. Maybe a neon band?”

“Or I could write ‘I’m having sex, wait for me to finish’ on the door. I mean, it’s up to you”, and laughs at her own joke, legs crossed, hands behind her back. She’s so comfortable around him, Scott doesn’t understand. But what’s the use of being an _empath_ if he can’t control his own emotions from time to time?

“Next time, you do that”, his voice comes out weird and he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. But then so is she, so he thinks they’ll let it slide.

“Yes, yes… And you just came from a Jesus meeting—pretty sure I ruined your chance at Paradise.”

She _is_ blushing.

“Like I would go there in the first place”, Scott jokes. Her cat eyes glint at little in amusement, her whole body twitching for some reason. Suddenly he can’t barely look at her, all post-sex softness, demeanor light as a feather, while he’s the heaviest with feelings that are his, yes, but also not. Sam’s, Gwen’s, Ronald’s, Rosalie’s.

He falls back on his bed, closes his eyes.

Madalena’s.

“I think she’s in love with Rosalie”, it spills out of his mouth. A secret that it’s not his to share.

Except when it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Cecília for helping me throughout my insecurity-attack.
> 
> Hopefully next time it won't be so depressing, and I'll be able to write soon.
> 
> Take care,


End file.
